


The Magic Thief

by Paimpont



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Magic, Gen, Harry Potter AU, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paimpont/pseuds/Paimpont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Riddle is born into an ancient pure-blood family, but to their horror, his parents discover that he is a squib. They want to hide him from the wizarding world. But Tom has other ideas. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic Thief

"How beautiful he is!" Lord Riddle gazed down at his newborn son.

"Of course he is," whispered Lady Riddle softly, kissing the baby's head. "He looks like you, my love."

And the baby did indeed look like his handsome father. Little Tom's eyes were still dark, as all babies' eyes are, but one could already make out a glimmer of silver-grey in them. The baby's hair was soft and downy, but it curled at the nape of his neck, just like his father's dark ringlets.

Merope Riddle was also beautiful; her golden hair framed a delicate heart-shaped face, and her eyes were a most brilliant blue. But she knew that the baby would never inherit any beauty from her; her loveliness was all magic and glamour. How relieved she had been to see that little Tom was naturally beautiful, just like his father! That would save her the trouble of casting glamours on him to ensure that everyone found her son as enchanting as she did.

Lord Riddle stroked the baby's tiny hand, and his son's fist tightened instinctively around his finger. Lord Riddle laughed in delight. "He is magical, isn't he, my love?"

Merope Riddle smiled. "Yes, dear." She leaned back against her silk pillows. "He is pure magic."

...

It wasn't until Tom was about six or seven years old that his parents were forced to admit that something was wrong. They had felt a little stab of worry from time to time, seeing that their beautiful son did no involuntary magic like other children his age did. But perhaps their darling little boy just had better self-control than the other children?

And Tom didn't really need to use magic to get his way; people always seemed to do everything he wanted anyway. Tom used his large silver-grey eyes and his angelic smile the way other children used magic. After all, who could resist such a beautiful child?

But as the years passed without a single incident of accidental magic on Tom's part, his parents had to face the terrible truth: Their beloved little boy, the last heir of the ancient Houses of Riddle and Gaunt, was a squib. He performed no magic because there was no magic in him. No letter bearing his name would come from Hogwarts, and his parents would never need to take him to Ollivander's for a wand.

His parents were overwhelmed with sorrow. They grieved for themselves and for their ancient and noble families, but most of all they grieved for poor Tom, who was little better than a Muggle. Lord and Lady Riddle discussed endlessly what to do next. What sort of future was in store for dear little Tom without magic? Was he to attend some Muggle school and live among people who had no magic? The thought was unbearable.

"We will keep him here at home instead," whispered his mother to her husband when she thought Tom was out of earshot. "We will tell all our friends that Tom is sickly, and that he is not strong enough to attend Hogwarts. No one will ever know that he is a squib if we keep him here with us. He will be happy here; he has all his books and toys, and we will buy him anything he wants."

Lord Riddle agreed readily. He could not imagine letting the world know that his son was not worthy of his ancient magical name. No, that would be unthinkable! Better keep the truth hidden from everyone!

Tom himself, however, had other ideas. He was an exceptionally intelligent child, and he had seen enough of magic to realize that he was born without it. He had understood his predicament long before his parents began to suspect that he was a squib. Later, he had overheard his parents talking, in hushed whispers, about the dull ordinary life that lay ahead of him. Was he to be a prisoner in his parents' home for the rest of his life? Tom did not think so. He did not want to be hidden away; he wanted to be admired and respected like his father. He wanted to be powerful. And if the lack of magic made his ambition impossible, he would simply have to find a way to acquire magic. Surely, there must be a way to buy magic? Or borrow it? Or even steal it?

But his parents explained to him, over and over, that what he wanted was impossible. "It's not your fault, my angel," whispered his mother and kissed his dark curls. "Some people are born with magic, and some are not. Nothing in the world can change that."

Tom let his mother kiss him, and he kissed her gently back. But he knew in his heart that she was wrong. There had to be a way to acquire the magic that nature had refused him. And he was going to find it.

Tom's parents did not let him play with other children, out of fear that they would discover his terrible secret. And to Tom's chagrin, he was even confined to his room when his own grandparents visited. Once his grandfather, old Marvolo Gaunt, had realized that Tom was different from other children, he had flatly refused to see his grandson. "The child is an abomination!" he had hissed. "The last heir of the noble houses of Gaunt and Riddle - a squib? I will not suffer him to live, should I ever set eyes on him again."

Lady Riddle had made sure that Tom stayed out of his grandfather's way ever since. Tom said nothing to his mother, but inwardly, he was seething. He would not be treated like some common Muggle by his own flesh and blood! If magic was might, then by Merlin, he would get magic in one way or another!

Tom began to spend a great deal of time in the library at Riddle House, and he read every single ancient volume on dark magic he could get his hands on. He memorized every spell he read, and he acquired a vast theoretical knowledge of magic. At first, his parents were wondering a little at the amount of time Tom spent by himself reading, but Tom merely smiled his angelic smile and told them in his sweetest voice that he adored poetry and that he hoped to become a poet himself one day.

His parents smiled then, relieved that he had found such a pleasant way to occupy himself within the walls of the Riddle House.

It took several years before Tom found what he was looking for. But one day, when reading the fourteenth volume of an old French Grimoire, he found it. Tom read the passage over and over again, and then he smiled to himself. That afternoon, he stole his way out of the Riddle House for the first time in years.

...

Old Marvolo Gaunt could feel the shadow of death looming over him, and he knew that he had no more than a few days left to live. He was afraid of dying; he clung to life with all the feeble strength that was left in him. But he was still furious when he opened his eyes and saw his grandson, his own flesh and blood, standing by his bedside.

The old man spat at the boy and uttered a vile oath. "Get out, you little vermin! Do you think I will accept you just because I am dying, you filthy squib?" His small dark eyes glittered with malevolence.

But Tom merely smiled at him and stepped closer to the bed. "I will no longer be a squib, grandfather. And if you listen to me, you will never die."

"What are you talking about?" The dying man glared at the boy.

The boy leaned over him. "We are more alike than you know, grandfather. I am every bit as ambitious and ruthless as you are, and right now we are in a position to help each other. You wish with all your heart to flee from death. And I wish with all my heart to be a powerful wizard. Here is what we will do, grandfather..." He bent down and whispered some words in the old man's ear.

A slow smile spread over Marvolo Gaunt's face. He looked at Tom, but this time, there was something new in his glance, something like grudging admiration and respect. "I do believe you are my grandson after all, Tom..."

Tom handed the old man his wand, and then he called the gardener in. The gardener, an elderly Muggle man, never saw his death coming. He simply stood there, uncomprehending, as the dying Mr. Gaunt pointed his wand at him and uttered the Avada kedavra curse.

The gardener crumpled to the floor, and Mr. Gaunt pointed his wand at Tom and uttered the incantation Tom had taught him, the spell that would make his own grandson into his horcrux.

The moment the incantation was spoken, Tom could feel the splinter of his grandfather's soul stirring within him, and he sensed his grandfather's magic coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes for a moment as the magic tingled through his body. Magic. I have magic now...

He took his grandfather's wand out of the old man's hands and pointed it at a spider on the windowsill. "Avada kedavra," whispered Tom.

The spider fell dead to the floor, and the old man laughed. "What a clever boy you are, Tom! My grandson, my soul! I will live on in you, my beautiful child..." He closed his eyes and drew his last breath, a smile upon his lips.

...

Lady Riddle's glance followed the Hogwarts Express as it vanished into the distance. She turned to her husband with a smile, although there were tears in her eyes. "I will miss Tom so much, but it is wonderful to know that he will be off at Hogwarts, learning so much about magic. Oh, I do hope he will be happy there!"

Her husband kissed her fondly. "Of course Tom will be happy, dear. How can he not be? He is such a beautiful and talented boy; I am sure he will be greatly admired at Hogwarts." He shook his head slightly. "Do you remember how worried we used to be, since it took him so long to display his magical abilities? As it turned out, there was nothing to worry about; Tom turned out to have more talent for magic than any child I have ever seen. Why, he even seems to have inherited your father's ability to speak Parseltongue!" He laughed. "Do you remember that there was a time when we even thought that Tom might be a squib? Thank Merlin we were wrong about that!"

Lady Riddle smiled. "Of course we were wrong, dear. Tom was always pure magic."


End file.
